


On the Parapet

by getluckywithbucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grocery Shopping, Law Student Bucky Barnes, Law Student Steve Rogers, Lawyer Steve Rogers, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:36:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1810465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getluckywithbucky/pseuds/getluckywithbucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles, tumblr prompts, and short works about Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. Updated when new drabbles are written. Characters and relationships will be added as they appear. Rating may change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2 Word Prompts: Orange, Star

**Author's Note:**

> All of these originated on Tumblr, usually as prompts. Feel free to follow me there! It's also getluckywithbucky. I am always accepting prompts, so if there's anything you'd like to see, please let me know.

Sometimes, when the temperature was just right and the sky was clear, Steve would sit up on the roof of their building and sketch the skyline until the last of the sunlight faded, going from yellow and orange to deep crimson fading into a dark velvet indigo. Sometimes, he’d drag the small case of pastels Bucky had given him for his birthday one year to the roof and he’d map out the sunset, smearing dust and pigment up to his elbows as he tried to capture the exact colors in the sky. He’d put up a fuss about the pastels at the time, but he loved them.

On those nights, Bucky would lean against the parapet, face tilted up to look at the sky and the stars slowly coming into view. He’d doze, and Steve was bad at focusing on the sky when Bucky sat there like that, not a care in the world. Steve had dozens of drawings of Bucky like that, done in charcoal and pencil and pastel, just him relaxed and staring up at the sky on the roof of their shitty apartment and Steve wouldn’t trade those moments for anything, not for all the money in the world.


	2. 2 Word Prompts: Punk, Hipster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt words: Punk and hipster

They grew up together. Best friends for years and a few years at different colleges had them going different directions. Everyone assumed, when they both ended back up in Brooklyn, that they wouldn’t have anything in common anymore.

Steve did illustrations for small press publishers. Bucky took pictures for whoever would hire him (he hated weddings in Central Park the most). Steve wore skinny jeans and hoodies and thick rimmed glasses he really only needed for reading, and Bucky set off metal detectors not only with his artfully held together by safety pins clothes, but also with the impressive number of piercings he’d acquired over the years.

Bucky’s friends called Steve a hipster, made fun of his thin shoulders and his height and his red-white-and-blue messenger bag, and they didn’t stay his friends long.

Steve’s friends gave Bucky suspicious looks, asked Steve if he was sure Bucky was safe to be around, and they didn’t stay his friends long, either.

Natasha understood that there was more to them than the stupid stereotypes and titles that had been shoved on them. She knew that Steve started more fist fights than Bucky had, and she knew that Bucky was the one who owned an iMac and had to have the newest iPhone every time one came out. She knew that Steve drank his coffee black, no sugar, and hated Starbucks, and that Bucky drank their lattes like water. She knew they both hated Nietzche and that they both had read every single Vonnegut book together.

So while people looked at Steve and saw nothing but another skinny hipster, and looked at Bucky and saw just another useless, going-nowhere punk, they looked at each other and saw home.


	3. 2 Word Prompts: Grocery Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt words: grocery shopping

There are at least 10 different varieties of potatoes in front of him. Red, russet, baby red, lady fingers, golden, and a purple potato he’s never seen before. The next stand over, there are multiple types of onions, and even further, of apples and grapes and even fucking squash.

Bucky scowls and turns to Steve, “Why.”

It’s less a question and more a demand, and Bucky’s scowl deepens when Steve shrugs and says, “Globalization, apparently. You should see the cereal aisle.”

Bucky’s not sure he wants to. After going from not having any choice, grocery shopping felt a hell of a lot like too many choices – too many brands of coffee or sugar or bread and too many types of pepper or carrot or orange juice. Shopping for groceries had been simple, when they could afford to get more than just a few things, and it doesn’t seem to matter that he recognizes a lot of the brands they see when they finally leave the produce section of the store.

There were too many decisions to make, and when Steve pushes the mostly empty cart down the aisle with the cereal, Bucky gapes. How fucking ridiculous, he thinks, that for 100 feet ahead of him, there’s nothing but a wall of cereal on one side and a wall of coffee products on the other. It’s a rainbow of cereal types, fruity and chocolatey and he spots column of Corn Flakes, familiar but so different and Bucky takes it all back. There are so many types to choose from, and Bucky wants to try all of them.

But Steve’s looking at him with concern, and he realizes he’s been standing and staring, mouth hanging open. He takes a few steps forward, places his metal hand on Steve’s shoulder, and point with his flesh and blood hand at a section of brightly colored boxes. “I need to try Cap’n Crunch, Steve. Every type.”

Steve grins.


	4. 2 Word Prompts: Shield, Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt words: shield, star

The salvage crew never found the shield he’d dropped into the murky waters of the Potomac River. There was a part of him, a small part that he didn’t really want to acknowledge, that hoped they never did. It was the same part of him that almost wished he hadn’t woken up in the hospital, that when he went under, he had stayed under. It didn’t matter which time.

But it was a small part, and Steve shoved it down and buried it deep. There was too much to do and more than anything he couldn’t abandon Bucky. Not again, not when this time there was at least a chance – a small one, a barely there hope – that he could save him. He didn’t know what he’d need to save him from, not really, because it could be Hydra or it could be from Bucky himself, from self-destruction and guilt. Steve knew a little bit about that.

He had no reason to stay in DC. SHIELD was gone, his apartment was trashed, and it was easier to just pack up his bike and leave. Most of the things in the apartment had come with it – Steve hadn’t needed that many cups or plates – and everything that he could say he owned fit into the saddlebag strapped to the bake of the motorcycle. He called Sam from a diner in New Jersey and talked about the cold box full of pastries and the waitress that had asked for his autograph for her nephew. He’d smiled at her, his Captain America smile, and let her take a picture with an old Polaroid the owner kept around for famous patrons. She took two, and he signed both, and they gave him his meal for free. He left a $300 tip.

He arrived in New York after dark and found a hotel room. Nothing but the bed really registered, and Steve didn’t bother to turn the lights off before he fell, face first and fully dressed, into the bed. When he closed his eyes, he dreamt of falling stars.

When he woke the next morning, his shield was propped against the door, held up by a pile of wrinkled and crumbled clothes, and the shower was running.


	5. Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone discovers SOMEONE'S collection of collectible toy/figures. (Prompt by Cassia)

It’s a tiny plastic version of himself. Or, rather, a tiny plastic version of himself from 1945, complete with a little plastic sniper rifle and little painted on dog-tags. It’s barely 4 inches tall, and Bucky stares at it where he’s found it, stashed in the bottom drawer of Steve’s dresser under the novelty boxers Stark had given him. He’d meant to just grab a pair of the boxers and leave, but the collection had distracted him.

There are at least a dozen other toys in the drawer, all of them definitely meant to be Bucky (and most of them falling completely short of looking anything like him). There’s even one of the ridiculous Bucky Bears he remembers, though it’s obviously a newer version made of sturdier materials, if the little silver-colored left arm is anything to go by.

He rolls his eyes. He figured there were probably toys of him, but actually seeing them is something else entirely - especially the one that’s about a foot tall and looks like it has actual goddamn skin. It’s sort of ridiculous that Steve is hiding them in his underwear drawer like a little kid, though, but it’s cute and Bucky can’t really begrudge him that. He wonders how long Steve’s been collecting these things, wonders _why_ he’s been collecting them. He’s right here, sharing the same apartment, room, bed.

He wonders why he hides them.

Probably, Bucky thinks, because he thinks it’ll be weird. A whole drawer full of stupid little Bucky Barnes kid’s toys? Anyone else might laugh Steve out of the building. Bucky, though, he just wants to drag Steve into a headlock and ruffle his stupid blond hair and tell him to take the damn things out of his underwear drawer.

And, maybe, a little part of him sort of wants to start his own collection of Steve Rogers toys.


	6. Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky go see Wicked. (Prompt by Cassia)

They’d been to see plenty of films, even before the war and everything went to shit. Hell, Bucky had dragged his fair share of dames into the alley behind their local movie house for some quick fun while Steve sat inside and pretended like he didn’t know exactly what Bucky was doing when he said he was just gonna go take a piss.

Once, in school, Steve had been in a play as the dainty princess, and Bucky, who came to every rehearsal with the excuse of wanting to see Stevie in his pretty pink dress, hadn’t let him live it down for weeks. Steve, for the record, hadn’t worn a pink dress. (It was green.)

Barring that, neither of them had ever seen a real, professional play. They’d definitely never had the money to go into Manhattan to see anything on Broadway, not when they had more important things to spend what little money they had on. It wasn’t something Steve ever really thought about, something so far outside the realm of possibility it wasn’t even worth considering. He’d draw it sometimes, though, him and Bucky in the plush seats of a real theatre, or what he’d imagine the stage to look like.

70 years and a life time later, Bucky remembers seeing those drawings (and isn’t that the most ridiculous thing of all, Bucky decides, because there are some days, still, when he barely remembers his own name but he can remember some stupid doodles Steve did one night when his breathing was so bad he tried to distract himself with the smooth lines of pencil on paper.) So he starts making plans.

Natasha thinks it’s a great idea when he asks her opinion, and she suggests that he picks something that’s personal.

He wants it to be a surprise. Instead of using the shared computer to look up productions, Bucky uses his phone when he’s in the bathroom or the elevator, and if Steve is suspicious, he never shows it.

It dawns on him what he’s going to take Steve to see one night when it’s Steve’s turn to pick the movie and he picks The Wizard of Oz. The two of them had seen it together when it came out in ‘39, amazed at the spectacle of seeing colors on the screen, at the blue of Dorothy’s dress and the shimmering red of her ruby slippers. (“They’re s’posed to be silver,” Steve complained after they left the theatre, and Bucky rolled his eyes and shoved at Steve’s bony shoulders, “Who’d wanna look at lousy silver shoes?” Despite his complaint, Steve had loved it and had bemoaned not being able to go see it again, on account of the January cold and the fact that money was scarce.)

Steve grins at Bucky when he puts the disc in, and that’s when Bucky makes his decision. “Do you think I’ll still love it, 75 years later?”

Bucky hopes so, and an hour and forty minutes later, Steve is as starry-eyed as he’d been the first time they’d watched it, decades before.

 

He gets the tickets online, which is an adventure in itself. The Ticketmaster website, he decides, is a piece of shit asshole and he would have been better off buying the tickets anywhere else. But he manages it, and basks in his success for a few minutes before shoving his phone back in his pocket and unlocking the bathroom room.

Steve’s been giving him weird looks about all the time he spends in there, but Bucky isn't worried that he'll figure it out. When he pulls the door open and heads out into the hallway, Steve is there to roll his eyes at him. Bucky happily flips him the bird, that tried-and-true New York tradition, as he makes his way into the kitchen, Steve by his side.

“I’m not even going to ask why you stay in there so long.” Steve says, grabbing a mug out of the cabinet by the fridge and snatching up the coffee pot to pour himself a 10 hour old cup of joe. Sometimes Bucky wonders why he bothers; they both know caffeine has about as much of a chemical effect on him as alcohol does. He figures it’s a familiarity thing, and that’s not something he can really make fun of. He sometimes catches himself looking down, instead of up, when his eyes seek out Steve.

“No, but you’re hoping I’ll tell.” Bucky replies, and Steve shrugs in concession, “I’m not gonna, punk.”

The blond takes a sip of his coffee, leaning against the counter, and considers Bucky for a moment with furrowed brows. If it were anyone else, Bucky would think he was going to try and pry it out of him, but Steve was good at the waiting game, at wearing Bucky down with just some well-timed comments and that goddamn confused puppy look he milks. Sometimes Bucky forgets that Steve, when he wants to be, is a manipulative little shit.

 

Luckily, Bucky expects it when Steve steps up his game in the days leading up to the show. He keeps his phone, a shiny piece of Stark tech that he keeps password and fingerprint protected, with him at all times after he made the mistake of leaving it on the kitchen counter and coming back to find it in Steve’s hands. The grin he gets when Steve hands it back is sheepish on the surface, but Bucky sees the underlying mischief and knows to keep a closer eye on it. He didn’t bother printing out the receipt for the tickets – a paper trail was dangerous.

By the time the day comes around, Bucky has fended off no fewer than 8 attempts from Steve to find out what Bucky is hiding, at least two of which were witnessed by Natasha. Her attempts to hide her amusement were badly veiled.

Steve is sitting on the couch when Bucky tosses a garment bag onto his lap with a thump. The blond raises an eyebrow, “What’s this for?”

“Get cleaned up, you’ve got plans tonight.” Before Steve can ask, Bucky ducks out of the room and into the hallway. He’s already dressed in a dark gray suit with a pale yellow tie, his hair tamed for the time being into something resembling how he’d worn it in decades ago. He hears the couch creak and the shuffle of socked feet on the hardwood floor, then the quiet click of the bedroom door’s latch. Bucky walks back into the living room and drops himself into the spot Steve had vacated.

They’ve got two hours before curtains, and Bucky has it all planned out. He knows Steve won’t take more than an hour to get dressed, just like he knows that he’s going to come out of the bedroom, frustrated, because he can’t get the green tie Bucky picked out to sit right.

Steve’s always been helpless with formalwear, Bucky thinks, grinning at the bedroom door where he can hear the shower running in the en suite. He pulls out his Stark phone, tapping at it while he waits with his right hand. He sometimes forgets that his left hand is largely useless on the screen, though Tony had jokingly (Bucky thinks) suggested adding a stylus tip to his index finger. Everything, he’s pleased to see, is still on schedule. He opens a game of Bejeweled.

 

By the time Steve is showered, dressed, and ready to go, Bucky has lost count of how many games he’s played. Like he thought, Steve does need help with the tie, and the ex-assassin grins as he reaches forward and folds the fabric.  
“One day you’ll be able to tie a Windsor knot.”

Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s waist, and his grin widens as the blond squeezes, gently, pressing his fingers along the seam of his slacks. “Nah, I like it when you do it.”

Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s jaw, “You’re a damn sap.”

Steve doesn’t deny it.

They almost miss their ride, but Bucky’s put too much work into the evening to let that happen, and he drags Steve to the elevator before he can get distracted kissing every inch of the other man.

 

All the secrecy, the hiding his phone, and the extra time spent in the bathroom are worth it, Bucky decides, when Steve’s face lights up in absolute joy at seeing the sign for Wicked when they step out of the car.

It’s even more worth it when Steve leans forward and kisses him, deep and warm and full of happiness, one hand resting on the back of his neck and the other holding his metal hand tightly, right there on the street in front of the entrance.

Maybe they’re both saps.


	7. Campfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is a first year law student and Steve is a 3L, and Bucky pines over a bonfire.

It was a tradition, Bucky found out a few weeks into his first year of law school, for one of the student organizations to rent a bunch of cottages off the beach and host some environmental law talks to pull in new students. Most students, he’d heard, went for the free beer and 3 day vacation from city life.

Bucky was definitely there for the free beer. It wasn’t even very good beer, just barely cool cans of PBR, but free was free and like hell he was going to complain about that. If he was completely honest, he was also there because Steve Rogers had told him it was a lot of fun. It was sort of pathetic how fast Bucky had made a fool of himself in front of Steve; the man was gorgeous and not even remotely what Bucky had thought he’d see in a 3L student. The man barely reached Bucky’s shoulders, but his smile was wide and bright and his tongue ring clicked against his teeth when he spoke, and Bucky was a lot impressed with the sheer number of tattoos that covered Steve’s arms and the row of silver piercings down both ears.

Piercings which glinted in the soft light from the bonfire that had started with the setting sun, and Bucky was trying really hard not to be a fucking creeper. Steve was on the other side, sitting on a log and bundled in a thick fleece blanket, his hands animated as he spoke to Sam (and Bucky had a few uncharitable thoughts about his friend in that moment).

Bucky took a gulp of his shitty beer and turned his attention back to the fire. His crush was, he knew, completely ridiculous. Steve was, against all odds, in the top 20 percent of his class and lined up for a pretty spectacular job upon graduation. He was funny and kind and fiercely opinionated, and every single bit of Bucky’s fairly formidable arsenal of flirtation and seduction completely fucking failed him whenever he was within 20 feet of the man. Bucky was never a bumbling idiot. He was smooth, classy. He could fake it with the best of them - hell, his personal statement had been 90 percent colorful bullshit and 10 percent sincerity. The point was, he had never felt so helpless or useless around anyone in his fucking life, and he’d never thought he’d end up creeping on someone he felt completely inadequate around.

"Hey, Bucky." And suddenly Steve was sitting next to him, and Bucky’s head snapped up and his jaw wasn’t cooperating and shit, he was doing it again, floundering instead of saying something at least slightly intelligent.

‘ _Get a fucking grip, Barnes_ ,’ he took a deep breath, made eye contact with Steve - and god, the bonfire did some amazing things to Steve’s cheekbones and the glimmer in his eyes - and forced himself to at least look relaxed. “Steve! Making the rounds?”

Steve grinned, bumping shoulders with him. “Nah, taking a break. There’s only so much NEDC recruiting I can do. You looked like you were thinking too hard about something.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. “Sort of comes with the overwhelmed first year territory.”

"First year was the worst, but you’ll be fine," Steve leaned a bit closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratory whisper, "The secret is having a 3L take you out for coffee or alcohol sometime."

Bucky’s brain stuttered to a halt, but not before he opened his fucking mouth, “Are you offering?”

Steve’s grin morphed into a bright smile, “I probably wouldn’t say no if you asked me.”

Bucky took a deep breath and let it out with a soft fuck it, “So Steve, want to take me out for coffee sometime?”

The light from the fire danced across Steve’s face as he pressed right up against Bucky’s side, and Bucky was sure he could die right then and it would be a good death. “I think I can work you into my schedule.”

From across the bonfire, Sam’s shout of “About damn time!” was drowned out by the stupid giddy thumping of his heart when Steve leaned up and dropped a peck of a kiss on the corner of Bucky’s own smiling lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They say write what you know, and what I know is being a romantically awkward law student.


	8. Bikini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a dare, and Steve's full body blush is impressive.

As with most bad decisions that Steve made, it started as a dare. He’d been drawing his friend Natasha in her swimsuit, and Tony, the obnoxious engineering major from his hall, had made a comment. Steve couldn’t even remember what exactly he’d said, but he’d immediately told Tony to shove it. One thing, as they do, led to another, which is how Steve ended up sitting on the university front lawn wearing Natasha’s bikini and blushing from head to toe.

The fabric barely covered him, despite his small stature, and to say he felt fucking ridiculous would be an understatement. But Steve wasn’t one to back down from a dare, especially when Tony Stark had issued it.

Even, he was mortified to realize, when the stupidly attractive guy from his political science class was walking toward him with a wide, gleeful grin on his face. Steve tried to cover himself a bit more, because this was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. Goddamn Tony.

"I gotta know, do you like wearing bikinis or is this one of those awkward dare moments?"

Steve knew his blush was only getting worse and to make it even worse he couldn’t actually get the words out to even respond.

"I mean, either way, it’s not a bad look on you," Stupidly Attractive’s grin hadn’t faded, and he definitely didn’t hide the way he gave Steve the once over, "Course, I’m biased and can’t complain anyway."

Steve squeaked - fucking squeaked and Stupidly Attractive laughed. Was he actually being hit on while _wearing Natasha’s bikini_ by the guy he’d been not-so-subtly crushing on for _months_?

"I’m Bucky, by the way." Stupidly Attractive - Bucky - said, and finally Steve’s voice returned.

"Steve. I don’t normally, uh."

Bucky laughed again, “I figured. Since I’ve pretty much seen you naked at this point, and hey, we’ve introduced ourselves and everything, wanna join me for some caffeine? With pants and everything.”

He’d barely finished his sentence before Steve had snatched up his shirt and jeans from the ground and started pulling them on, “Yeah, I definitely want to.”

It was the first time Steve wore the bikini.

It definitely wasn’t the last.


	9. Post-Bar Bar Adventures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from jaiden-s in celebration of me surviving my first year of law school: "What about earnest new lawyer Steve, fresh off passing the bar runs into angry, irate political activist Bucky who thinks all lawyers are shit? Good times."

He got lucky; it was hard as shit to find a job straight out of law school, even for someone who had worked every single legal clinic that would hire him and had more Moot Court experience than was probably strictly necessary. The Victim’s Rights Institute had hired him on the day after his final grades had been posted, conditional on his passing the Bar in August, and when his results came back - substantially higher than just passing - Steve had gone out to celebrate with Sam and Peggy.

They’d all three somehow managed to not only pass the Bar exam, but ended up with jobs if not _where_ they wanted, at least in the general practice area they wanted. Sam was fucking tickled to have placed with the VA, and Peggy had managed to secure the other opening with VRI.

Steve had never really experienced any of the blatant disgust for lawyers before; he’d always done pro bono work, always been involved with public interest projects, and one of the main things about public interest was that it kept him close and active in the community and working, primarily, in the interest of those who weren’t in good positions to help themselves.

So when the three of them clinked their glasses together with a shout of “To surviving law school and the Bar!”, Steve honestly hadn’t been expecting the people at the table next to theirs to actually turn to them and call them “soulless motherfuckers."

Peggy was the first to recover while Steve still gaped at the two at the other table. They were both unnecessarily attractive, covered in impressive tattoos and enough piercings to frustrate a TSA agent; the woman, behind a curtain of flaming red hair, stared at them neutrally with fiercely green eyes, and the man’s blue eyes burned like fire directly at Steve.

He was stupidly attractively, and Steve was sure that he had absolutely shit taste in men.

Peggy’s words were clipped, brutal, and Steve barely heard them because all he could think was how frustrating the interaction was. These people knew nothing about them, nothing about what their goals were or what had brought them to law school.

The man rolled his eyes at Peggy, “There’s no such fucking thing as a good lawyer. You’re all fucking money-grubbing, amoral, opportunistic assholes that want to see as many innocent people fucked as possible.”

Sam made to stand up, but Steve beat him to it. He knew he wasn’t impressive, tiny as he was, but that never stopped him from standing up against a holier-than-thou bully who spouted shit at people who didn’t fucking deserve it.

“Listen, asshole, you don’t know the first thing about us.” The guy looked surprised to have tiny Steve right in his face, finger poking angrily at the front of his black t-shirt. Steve jerked his thumb towards Sam, “He works for the fucking VA trying to keep vets from getting dumped on the streets and protecting them from scumbags trying to take advantage of their pensions and their GI Bill benefits. Pegs works for the Victim’s Rights Institute trying to get stricter sentences for _goddamn rapists_ and _abusive shitbags_. I’ve spent the last 3 years doing nothing but pro bono work for victims of police brutality and now I’m working to try and protect victims of hate crimes. You have a fucking problem with lawyers, fine. That’s your prerogative. But leave us the fuck out of it and let us enjoy our first day of _actually making a difference_.”

The man’s mouth had fallen open at some point, and the woman reached across their table and tapped his jaw closed. He’d gone red and Steve felt weirdly proud of himself, even though he figured he was about to get punched. He was still close enough to smell his aftershave, to see the stubble on his very, very well shaped jaw.

Peggy’s hand clasped around his forearm with a muttered “Steve,” and he swallowed and took a step back, eyes still firmly locked on the asshole in front of him. He was surprised to see that he looked almost... apologetic?

Steve took a breath and shrugged Peggy’s hand off, “I’m going home. I’ll see you Monday.”

He didn’t wait for her reply, just waved sharply at Sam and walked out of the bar.

He got halfway down the block before he heard shouting behind him. The man had actually fucking followed him out, was running down the block toward him and Steve turned with a frustrated groan when he was less than 5 feet away, “What do you want? Want to tell me how horrible I am some more? Gonna deck me? _What?”_

Sam was hot on his heels, Peggy and the red-haired woman following at a more sedate pace and actually _talking_ , civilly, to each other.

The man rubbed the back of his neck, ruffling his shaggy mohawk. “Look, I owe you an apology.”

Steve straightened, “I never would have guessed.”

“Hey, I’m trying to not be the asshole here.” The man scowled, “I’m sorry, okay. I, uh, I mean...”

The red-haired woman stepped forward, “What Bucky is trying to say and failing spectacularly at is that he just got out of a bad spot with a shitty lawyer.”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah, that. I got arrested a while back at one of the Black Lives Matter protests, and I, uh, called my normal lawyer to represent this lady that got arrested with me who couldn’t afford someone decent, ended up with a state appointed jerk that fucked me over.”

“He has trust issues.”

“I’m handling this, Natasha.” Bucky snapped, and Natasha put her hands up in mock surrender, smirk firmly on her lips.

Steve wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, but Peggy seemed amused by it and Sam threw his hands up, muttering that he was going back to get fucking wasted away from their fucking drama. “So you took it out on the first innocent lawyers you found.”

Bucky groaned, shoving his face into his hands. “Look, I get that what I said was totally outta line, but can I make it up to you? And your friends? I swear I’m not actually an asshole.”

Steve pretended to consider, but knew he wasn’t going to say no. The longer he was silent, the more Bucky’s face fell. Steve decided to take pity and held out his hand, “Buy me a drink and some fries and we’ll call it even. Steve Rogers.”

The grin Bucky aimed at him was blinding, “Bucky Barnes. I’ll get you whatever you want.”

Peggy clapped her hands, “Yes, and I’m Peggy Carter. Can we please go back to the bar now? My ice is melting.”


	10. Things That Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from [the-agent-carter](http://the-agent-carter.tumblr.com) on tumblr: "Steve confesses his feelings for Bucky after he rescues him from Zola."

The Hydra base is burning behind them. The explosions have petered out, but the inferno remains and Bucky is honestly amazed they made it out alive. He’s amazed that his men made it out mostly unscathed, the ones that weren’t drag in to be experimented on the same way he had been.

He’s even more amazed by the fact that  _Steve_  is right the fuck next to him, tall as the Empire State Building and strong as hell. And there’s no denying that, despite the changes to his body, that the man is Steve - his face is the same, his hands too, and Bucky would know that voice anywhere, has known that voice for more than half his life.

There’s movement behind them, but Bucky knows it’s the other guys, knows that Steve knows that too, so neither of them move, just keep watching the flames spread and flare and devour everything Hydra had built.

Bucky doubts it’s the end of Hydra.

Steve presses his shoulder to Bucky’s, and he looks away from the flames and has to look up to meet Steve’s eyes. “God, Steve, that’s gonna take some getting used to.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve says with a shrug, expression just the right side of bashful.

“Nah, don’t do that. I mean yeah, not happy about the fact someone actually  _said yes to your dumb mug_.” He knocks their shoulders together again, “But don’t apologize for being bigger.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, catching their breath and listening to the men behind them getting ready to get the hell out of there.

Bucky turns, finally, and grabs Steve’s arm - and that’ll take some getting used to, not being able to fit his whole hand around Steve’s forearm, “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

Steve doesn’t move, though. Instead, he shuffles on his feet a little, something Bucky’s seen him do a thousand times before and it’s just another little reminder that this really is Steve, big and strong and  _healthy_. A little part of him is sad about that, sad that Steve’s not small anymore, but the gratitude and relief that if they make it through the war alive, at least Steve’ll spend the rest of his life able to breath.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t find you.” Steve finally says, and Bucky feels his heart break a little. “Or that I’d find you, but I’d be too late.”

Bucky reaches out and pulls Steve to him in what would have been a crushing hug a year ago and when Steve wraps his arms around him, they cling to each other like they haven’t in years. “Hey, it’s fine. Look, we’re both okay.”

Steve clings a little tighter, and Bucky lets him. It’s not a hardship; Bucky’d let Steve do a lot more than just cling, he’d let him do anything as long as it kept him at Bucky’s side.

“I thought maybe it was something else wrong with me, but the serum didn’t take it away.” Steve mutters it into Bucky’s neck, but he hears it clearly.

“What?” And oh god, Bucky thinks, don’t let there be something wrong. Don’t let anything happen to Steve.

“I love you so much, Buck. Thought I was sick, but I still love you.”

Bucky pulls back enough to look Steve in the face, to see the terror behind those blue eyes, and he can’t help it, he laughs. Because Steve’s baring his heart here, thinking there was something wrong with him, and Bucky could have told him years ago, “Stevie, loving someone ain’t ever wrong, rest of the world be damned.”

There, in front of the burning rubble of a Hydra base, Bucky leans up the few inches that separates them, and presses his lips to Steve’s.

It’s another reason for them to both survive.


End file.
